


Careless Whisper

by HecatesKiss



Series: Between Missions ~ 00Q [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecatesKiss/pseuds/HecatesKiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terrorists don't take holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arel/gifts), [JayEz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/gifts).



> Not Beta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> "Careless Whisper" performed by Seether in case anyone was wondering which version I was using.

Q drowned his sigh in a long, slow sip of the glass of brandy he held. He set it down on a table, glass empty and smiled as he glanced briefly at his watch. It was almost two in the morning. 

He watched Moneypenny and Derrik from the security pool glide by on the dance floor. He let his gaze skim across the floor and smirked as Alec and Julia were dancing just a little too close for propriety. He knew better than anyone it was just for show. Double-oh Six was reckless, and Double-oh Nine was lethal if angered, but they moved well together. They drifted close enough to him so that he could _hear_ snippets of their good natured argument -- in Russian. 

Scarlett, Double-oh Four, spun by in Tanner’s arms. Mallory and Tiago swanned by, dancing together and talking in low voices, postures relaxed-yet-defensive. Q flicked his gaze over to the small table of Q Branchers and Accounting. He was almost sure a pool had started to see if Tiago walked off the floor before the song ended. 

It was the annual MI6 Christmas Party. Q ran a finger under his collar and shook his head. Every Double-oh was actually in residence tonight. He let his gaze skim the room, picking out those that weren’t on the floor. 

Double-oh Three, Max Vaughn, was sipping whisky and gesturing at something on the floor to R, who was smiling slightly and shaking her head, the elegant crimson dress drawing more attention than the formal black of the Agent’s black tie. Daniel Swain, Double-oh Eight, was flirting with a woman from accounting while Thomas Everett, Leon Baines, and Rhys Wagner were at the bar, obviously trading war stories. He was pretty sure it was war stories, if the way Rhys was gesturing to his knee was any indication. The way Double-oh One, Baines, was sniggering told Q that he found whatever the story was amusing. Q knew it was, he’d been on the other end of the comms when Rhys managed to get caught with his pants down by an enraged mother mob boss in Bolivia.

Watching the busy floor empty as the song ended, he blinked as the music abruptly changed from the 1950s swing and jazz that had been playing since roughly eight that evening and flowed into more modern rock. He shook his head, it was two in the morning, Q Branch had just usurped the sound system. The agreement had been that they would wait until two.

Q scoured the floor, not seeing _his_ agent anywhere. Not the bar, not any of the tables set out, not the floor, though he’d danced with both genders earlier in the night. James Bond and Alec Trevelyan had been icy and graceful as they moved together, and Q still wasn’t sure who had led during that particular set, it seemed to fluidly swap between one beat and the next.

“Dance with me?” Bond asked, blue eyes bright as he held out his hand. Q dipped his head and put his hand into James’. He’d danced with Moneypenny, Julia, Scarlett, Jake from Medical, and Tiago -- Tiago more on a dare than anything else. 

James led him onto the floor as a new song began. For a moment his eyes widened and then narrowed as he recognized the tune. Double-oh Seven only smiled and Q caught Trevelyan’s raised whisky glass out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and glared as the singer’s voice began to sing.

Bond pulled him closer and they glided together, blue eyes gleaming. Q allowed himself to smile. It was one of his favorite songs. A bit melancholy.

_Calls to mind a silver screen  
And all of the sad goodbyes_

Q smiled slightly and tipped his head. Bond turned them neatly and looked where Q had gestured. Mallory and Tanner were also dancing together, neither seeming to talk for once -- only dancing. Bond returned his smile with an amused smirk.

Q tipped his head as he realized Bond was murmuring the lyrics in time with the song, he chuckled slightly and swayed. Bond’s hand crept a bit lower on his back and Q shot him a warning look. James only smiled.

 _I should have known better than to cheat a friend  
A wasted chance that I've been given_

Q’s hand tightened on his black clad shoulder, palm pressing slightly into where he knew a gauze pad lay, covering a knife slash. Bond’s gaze didn’t change, nor did he falter, but his hand moved back into more appropriate territory. Q didn’t allow himself to rest his forehead against Bond’s uninjured shoulder, but he listened to the lyrics and sighed.

 

_So I'm never going to dance again  
The way I danced with you_

“How is the exploding pen coming?” James asked, eyes twinkling. Q shook his head, lips curving in an amused grin. 

_There's no comfort in the truth  
Pain is all you'll find_

“You dance well, James. Formal training only?” Q asked, deflecting easily.

“No. I had early teaching. Alec on the other hand? Poor bastard only has what we were taught. It’s normally good enough.” James murmured, dipping his head slightly and lowering his voice.

Q laughed. “I shall keep that in mind, he didn’t even try to ask me to dance.” 

James growled slightly and Q’s eyes widened. He knew that particular noise. He also caught the sharp glance that Tanner threw them and shook his head slightly. Mallory wasn’t experienced enough with Double-oh Seven yet to realize that noise was practically a declaration of war.

“Bond!” Q’s voice was low yet cracked with warning. The agent fixed his gaze on his Quartermaster and merely waited as they glided. “Alec has no designs on me, because I’d destroy his feet first and work my way up if he tried it.” 

“That’s why I adore you, Xan.” James murmured, lips pressed nearly against his neck. Q shivered hearing his lover use the only nickname he’d ever allow.

_Though it's easy to pretend  
I know you're not a fool_

“Thank you.” Q murmured, hazel eyes glinting green-grey in the light. James checked himself, Q could feel it in his muscles as the man decided against a kiss on the dance floor. As the song ended James offered his arm and Q took it, allowing himself to be escorted off the floor. He rolled his eyes as Alec held up both hands in a ‘surrender’ gesture when his best friend glared in his direction.

“It’s past two, shouldn’t you be getting home?” Q asked and Bond laughed. 

“Alec and I typically abandon these things before midnight. Drink?”

“Brandy, if you would.” Q said accepting. James nodded and slipped away. Q didn’t even blink when Alec slid into the space James’ had vacated, glass of whisky still in one hand.

“What did I do to piss off James?”

“I mentioned that you hadn’t tried to dance with me. He got possessive.” 

“Q? Jones from accounting is headed this way.”

“She’s been trying to corner me all night.” Alec saw the way his shoulder’s tensed. “Dance with me, Double-oh Six.” 

Alec recognized that tone of command from his Quartermaster. He took the man’s hand and obeyed, leading he slimmer man onto the floor. They swept together, the tempo of the new song fast and sharp.

“James is going to kill me, I hope you realize.” Alec warned, hips moving aggressively as his hands clutched at Q’s waist.

“Not for obeying a direct order. That woman keeps trying to destroy my budget. Of course between you and Double-oh Five and Double-oh Seven, my budget is always precarious. You three barely _ever_ bring your gear back intact, if at all!” Q groused, glaring hotly for a moment.

Alec laughed and tugged Q closer, hands raking up his sides Q huffed and then he felt a flutter of fingers against his back. He blinked as he was twisted around. James’ glare was murderous as he gazed directly at Q. 

Q braced his hands on Alec’s shoulders, recognizing the way the man’s weight shifted. He dipped, and saw the way Alec grinned over at his best friend before Q was set back on his feet and they moved together again. 

When Q was able to look at James again, he realized the man was talking with Jones. Q grimaced briefly and hissed when Alec’s hand tried to dip down onto his hip.

“A reminder, Double-oh Six, I will break your feet if you try that again, and James will more than gladly ensure you cannot piss straight for a month.” 

Q saw the way the Double-oh blinked, green gaze gone assessing. Q smiled, the grin nothing but teeth and aggression. “I design your gear, Alec. I also have better range scores that you in long range marksmanship. Do not test me.” 

“Sir.” Alec returned, his smile just as dangerous, but his gaze was understanding. Then Q’s phone rang and he groaned and reached for it.

“Situation brewing in Monaco, Ukraine, and something just heated up in Iraq.” Kendra’s voice said in his ear. “Looks nasty, sorry sir.”

Q looked over, finding Gareth and Bill both still in the crowd, phones also to their ears. Q raised a brow in apology to Alec and walked off the floor, feet already trying to find the fastest route out of the room. Alec headed for Tanner, and Q knew he could put the head of MI6 out of his mind for now, the Double-ohs would get the right people where they needed to go.

He began giving instructions, using various protocol names and terms as he dodged around people. Q snagged his coat and allowed himself to be hauled out the door. “I’ll be there in fifteen… five as Bond is driving.” 

They stepped out of the hotel together, Q hanging up his phone and shoving it into a pocket.

“Never a normal Christmas… ever.” Bond muttered as he took the keys to his car from the valet.

“Terrorists don’t take holidays, James.” Q returned once he was ensconced in the vehicle and James took off with a squeal of rubber.

***  
Fifteen minutes later -- jacket, vest, and tie discarded and at least two studs pulled out of the shirt so that Q could breathe, he was equipping 009, 002, and 006 for rapid deploy missions.

Alec, Thomas, and Julia were cool and bantering, even though they were all headed into hot situations. Q presented Alec with his tickets and the identity he was going to be using along with his favored Makarov, an earwig, and a matte black Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife.

“Come home, and please return all gear, Double-oh Six.” Q said. The man nodded, sketched a lazy salute and walked out, clad in business casual with a brown leather jacket thrown over the top.

Ten minutes after that, the first agent was in the air, Q was in his office, kicking off the god awful formal shoes and dragging off the dress socks to yank on his brightly coloured, mismatched comfortable socks and a pair of scruffy bright yellow Converse. Bond merely shadowed him, not getting underfoot. 

“This is almost par for the course. Julia was cleared by Medical. Bloody hell. Queen and Country.” Q muttered. James merely offered his Scrabble mug, full of good Earl Grey. James still wore most of his formal suit, only the tie dangled from his jacket pocket and a stud had been removed to loosen the collar.

“Queen and Country.” Bond murmured, sipping coffee from a black mug that had NATO Cyber-Terror Conference 2013 printed on it in white.

“You don’t have to stay.” Q said, glancing over as he reached for a dark green cardigan that Rhys had brought back from a trip to Norway. It was heavy enough to ward off the typical chill of Q Branch. 

“Alexander, if it’s going to be an all nighter and you’ve called in most of the branch… meat pastries or something more substantial?” 

“Bond Q Branch Catering?” Q asked with a small smile, hearing his first name from his lover’s lips. James nodded. He leaned in for a quick kiss before he shoo’d the agent out the door with express permission to spoil the minions.

Q tucked away his feelings and stepped out of his office, Scrabble mug in hand. It was time for everyone to get to work.


	2. Waking Protocol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the wonderful Arel.
> 
>  
> 
> Brief NSFW material!! You have been warned.

“You.” James pointed and the minion froze, bleary brown eyes widening behind black horn rims as he realized a Double-oh was in the middle of Q Branch and pointing right at him.

“Sir?” The young man asked, olive toned skin paling. He had two days growth worth of beard on his face and the man’s hair was stuck up at odd angles, as though he’d been yanking on it in frustration.

“Are you doing anything at the moment involving essential coding, mission ops, or security on the firewalls?” 

“No.” The man hunched into himself as blue eyes turned thoughtful.

“Good. You are with me then. Name?”

“Camden.”

Bond nodded and then turned to Helena, who only blinked and pressed a button on her keyboard. Bond leaned over her shoulder and peered at the pie chart that was on her screen. “Pasta it is then.”

Bond pulled out his phone, typed on it for a few seconds and nodded to the tech. She smiled briefly and then switched screens, going back to whatever it was she was doing.

Camden had gotten a moment to look at the other tech’s screen before Bond’s hand landed on his shoulder and he was hauled out of the room. ‘Pasta’ had been the biggest section of the chart at 72.3%.

Floating back through the door that was swishing shut was a wailed, “Where are we going?”

***  
Bond returned loaded down with stacks and stacks of take out boxes. He moved without looking for the triad of white folding tables that had been shoved end to end and began laying out containers of pasta along with containers of sauce. Tom, from Security was also laden down with boxes and followed the same procedure. Camden brought up the rear loaded down with even more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is fresh pasta on the table. Cold stuff is to the left. Hot to the right. Sauces are laid out in tubs. Active Handlers are fed first. Then the rest of you lot. Touch Q’s Lemon Chicken Pasta Primavera and I will shoot you myself.”  
The ravenous horde of minions froze at that warning. They waited politely while Bond set aside four particular containers on a desk, well out of the way of everyone. Then two minions scrambled forward, to grab food for two of the three active handlers.

“Charlie likes linguini and clams.”

“R will take a helping of the plain with marinara. Add garlic bread.”

“Sir?” Helena stood at his elbow, a pale green infinity scarf wrapped around her throat. Bond blinked. “The Quartermaster is handling Double-oh Six personally. He muttered something about ‘tits up, crazy fucking best friends, and bloody explosions’.”

“I’ll take his food to him then.” Bond said, grabbing one of four specially marked boxes. He then walked along the hall and slid into one of the glass doored booths. It had been a little over seventy-two hours since the notices had come in. Most of the first shift had been relieved and other handlers had taken over. Q had stuck with Alec from the moment his plane had touched down in the Ukraine.

Bond ignored Kendra’s startled look as he popped open the lid on the container and waved it under the rapidly talking Quartermaster’s nose. He watched the man breathe in even as his fingers flew and he snapped out orders… apparently Alec was in the middle of running for his life … while gunfire crackled in the background.

“Left at the next junction. You have exactly seven minutes and fifty two seconds to get your arse onto the roof, Double-oh Six. Two on the stairwell, coming up. You should have a clear shot in … three...two...fire.” Q’s voice was cool even as his eyes flicked from one screen to another, tracking from point to point and guiding. 

James watched as the two guards were dropped with perfect head shots. He breathed in when Alec did, heart rate mimicking what he could see in the corner of the screen. He remained silent, watching Q work to get his best friend out of a situation that had completely gone to hell. 

The helicopter picked Alec up right on time, the extraction team slipping neatly into place, even if Alec was forced to actually _jump_ to reach his ride. Once he was in the door and no longer hanging off the skid, James breathed a sigh of relief.

“Q? Thank you.” Alec said over the comms, once it had been confirmed he wasn’t bleeding out from either a stab or gunshot wound and the package he had been sent in to retrieve was still in his possession.

“All in a day’s work, Double-oh Six. Your flight details will be forwarded to the burner phone… providing you still have it?” Q responded, voice dry.

“Yes, Quartermaster. I still have my phone, the earwig, _and_ the firearm. I left the knife in some poor bastard’s skull. Didn’t have time to retrieve it. Was trying to avoid looking like my best friend.” 

James muttered a curse in Russian and Alec’s laugh echoed over the comms, having obviously heard his best friend’s voice.

“We shall see you at home. Q signing off.” The Quartermaster said before he switched off his mic and leaned back.

James jiggled the food and Q’s eyes dropped to it. Bond produced the fork and allowed the container to be lifted from his hands. His lover fell on the food with an obscene moan. Bond only smirked and turned to face Kendra, who blushed scarlet.

“There’s food out in branch. Go on, I’ll keep an eye on him.” Bond assured. The minion nodded and scurried towards the promise of food. He merely waited, watching as Xan packed away the double portion of Primavera, going so far as to lick his fingers clean before he slumped back in the chair and yawned.

“Thank you.”

“All in a day’s work.” Bond responded, blue eyes crinkling in amusement. Q pushed to his feet and swayed but held up a prohibitive hand. The agent allowed it and gathered up the rubbish, following after the Quartermaster… ensuring the man was shuffling towards his office, even as he glanced towards the two missions still running.

“I should --”

“Sleep.” James cut in, voice cool. “You’ve been running Alec from the moment he touched down. I think he got more rest than you did. At least take a half hour. If anything goes hot to the point they need your brain, you will be in your office and they will know exactly where to find you. Sleep, Quartermaster.” 

James was immune to the fulminating glare the boffin attempted to throw at him and merely waited for the man to stumble into his office and close the door, more or less in James’ face. He smirked and turned towards the minions.

“All right, everyone, attention for a moment?”James called out. Heads snapped to him, even though the sound of pedalling remained part of the branch.

“I just managed to feed and then convince Q to rest for half an hour. Let him sleep for an hour if you can. He’s had probably three hours total over the last seventy-two. Wouldn’t bloody well leave Double-oh Six for more than a half hour -- and no, Alec did not blow up the building.” 

Various minions chuckled while several swore. James ignored the passing of money and waited for attention to return to him. “A reminder, if you _must_ wake Q for something, use Double-oh Waking Protocols.”

“Huh?” Kendra muttered around a mouthful of angel hair and white sauce.

“Do not enter the room. Do not touch him. Stand at the door, call his name, and expect a weapon to be pointed at you.” Bond listed off as he reached for his container of linguini and clams. 

“But… he’s the Quartermaster.” Kendra spluttered, forkful of food dangling forgotten.

“And he nearly gutted me the one time I forgot that he is more than just a boffin and tried to wake him by touch. He’s had field training. Respect it. You’ll live longer.” James responded, voice flat.

With that, he snagged two of the remaining three containers and slipped out of the branch. He rode the lift up to the Executive Level and slipped through the empty office, sparing a moment to feed Baretta, Eve’s fish before he nudged open one of the doors to M’s office.

The lights were low, and James tensed as he realized Mallory was on his knees before another figure. He took a cat footed step forward, instincts screaming at him to defend the Head of MI6. Then the man standing over Mallory turned his head and he realized it was Tanner. He watched for a moment as Gareth got in a quick breath before Tanner’s hips surged forward, cutting off the other man’s ability to breathe. He ignored the slight choking noise from his boss and Bill’s huffed breath of enjoyment.

James shook his head and rolled his eyes before he set both of the containers down on the massive desk. He only nodded when Bill turned his head and met his cool gaze. “I know nothing, I saw nothing, because then I can’t say anything to HR.”

James watched Mallory flinch and try to jerk back. Bill’s hand against his neck kept him still. James slipped from the office, realizing that this was repayment of the favor of the time Bill had managed to catch Q and the infamous 007 in flagrante up against Q’s office wall.

James made sure the door latched before he walked away, hands in his pockets. It had been a long seventy-two hours. And his food was waiting for him still in Q Branch. The lift doors chimed open and he stepped in.

***  
James only stared at his wild haired, wide eyed lover as Helena made small whimpering noises. She was slumped in her chair. Her hand was wrapped around what appeared to be the hilt of the _Highlander_ Ivanhoe letter opener he’d given Q as an apology for breaking a Walther into four pieces. He sighed. The rest of the blade was most likely buried in her shoulder.

“Don’t try to pull it out. You leave it for medical. I bloody well warned you. Field. Trained.” James bent forward and scooped Helena into his arms. She squeaked and then groaned. 

“Camden? Get Q tea. He’s not going to sleep again until he’s home after that. Bloody boffins… listen for once?” Bond growled before he spun and stalked from the room, carrying the technician towards Medical.

“I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been here since the Silva disaster, I _knew_ better… I just didn’t -- ow!” Helena rambled, flinching violently when Doctor Jake Mathison prodded at the letter opener embedded in her shoulder.

“Bond, could you kindly _not_ stab the techs?”

“That was the Quartermaster, Mathison.” Bond drawled. The dark haired doctor looked up sharply. 

“I walked into his office to grab the Cassri Report, which I knew was on his desk. I don’t think he was even fully awake. I caught sight of metal and then -- fucking hell! Ow!” 

“HR will need an incident report filled out. I’m certain the Agent can help with that?” James nodded at the suggestion.

“Q will be apologizing for a week, solid. What sweets do you like best?” 

“It was an accident. I didn’t realize the blade was balanced to throw. I didn’t even see it.” 

“If he’s sleeping, it’s under his pillow in a sheath. He probably wasn’t fully awake when he took in your shape and threw, but that was still an accurate throw. Watch him sometime when he’s bored on the range. He can do pinpoint precision even exhausted to hell and back.” 

James took the letter opener when it was fished free of the tech’s shoulder. He rinsed it off and wiped it down with a pocket square that he kept tucked in his front pocket. He then slipped away and took the bundle of clothing from the nervous man that was hovering outside the door to medical.

“Q says to tell her to go home. And that he’s really, really sorry. And I’m taking Helena home.” The tech squeaked.

“It’s all right Michael! I should have remembered! And where’s my tee?!” Helena called back. Bond shook his head. Apparently techs were tough. He handed her the shirt and she shrugged into the dark material covered with bright red poinsettias. The shirt covered the gauze pad that hid the stitches she’d needed to close the wound.

“The tee would be harder to get into or out of with a shoulder wound. Button down is easiest, miss.” The woman blinked and nudged up her glasses. Bond closed his eyes for a moment. Usually it was another Double-oh he was advising… not a tech. She nodded.

“Well, if everything is normal again… I think I might actually have food. Michael _will_ be taking you home. Q probably threatened his credit rating to get that to happen. Sleep. He will want you back as soon as possible. Or I will, the next mission I’m likely to lose the most expensive thing in the list.”

Helena snorted and winced. “Ow. But yeah, you tend to do that. And ooh, pills. Good. Okay, Michael. I’ll let you take me home. Thank you, Mr. Bond. Tell Q I’m really, really sorry?”

“I will. Good night, Helena, Michael.” Bond said with a slight smile. Michael blushed. James returned to Q Branch with the blade, whistling slightly. He didn’t think Michael had a shot in hell with the other tech, but he’d been proved wrong before.

James returned the letter opener to Q’s office desk, and scooped up his still sealed container of food and went hunting for his particular techie. He found the other man slumped against a wall, cradling his scrabble mug in one hand and shaking his head.

“She says sorry.” His Quartermaster winced.

“Q? Not your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I knew where I was -- kinda.”

“I think this will teach everyone to stay the hell out of your office if you are doing something like this again. Or they will knock first.” James suggested, stabbing at his food and popping a careful bite into his mouth. It was still warm enough to be enjoyable. Q sighed into his tea.

“She’s lucky she’s alive.”

“You hit her shoulder.” Bond shrugged.

“She turned. If she’d been stationary? I’d have killed her.”

“Bugger. Well, to cheer you up, the whole Mallory/Tanner speculation? Consider it official. But I know and saw nothing.” Bond let a smirk curve his lips as Q choked on his tea for a moment.

Bond just watched his Quartermaster go, shaking his head at the surprised muttering about projections and pool winnings. All in all, it was just another day at MI6.


End file.
